


Sticks Shifts (Drive Me Wild)

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:26:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck has a slightly intimate favor to ask of Kurt, but along the way they discover new things about how they feel about each other</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks Shifts (Drive Me Wild)

**Author's Note:**

> For the Gleesummerfun exchange, but my recipient dropped out. The prompts were old cars, jeans, stick shifts, and re-piercing Puck

Kurt pulled the Navigator into his driveway and hit the button for the garage remote. Leaving the SUV outside, he hopped out, frowning at the state of his knee-high black riding boots. The morning drizzle and an awkward miss on the stairs had left them unacceptably scuffed. His father exiled the shoe polish to the garage years ago on the grounds that it was too hard to get out of the carpets.

With one week left of school and despite the morning’s cool rain, the humidity had settled over western Ohio for the summer. Kurt suspected that this was the last time he’d get to wear these beloved boots before the next fall. He wondered if he could get away with a Payne Stewart sort of look for the upcoming week. His ability to rock it wasn’t in question, but perhaps it would be best to get Dave to escort him to classes for the remaining days. Even if he was emulating a famous, and tragically dead, athlete, the heathens at McKinley might not get the reference.

The polish kit was right where he expected to find it, but he couldn’t find the little stool to prop his foot up on. He pondered whether he should change out of the skintight white riding pants before he dug any further into the grime of the garage.

Kurt had just about decided to go inside and put on some sweats before dealing with his boots when a horrendous noise assaulted his eardrums. It was clearly the ragged choking sound of a muffler in severe distress. Kurt stepped out of the garage to see what monstrosity was pulling into his driveway.

The car turned out to be some sort of seventies pony car. The driver’s door opened with a screech of hinges and Puck stepped out.

“Puck. What are you doing here?” Kurt greeted him.

“I need to borrow some tools.”

“For this mess?” Kurt asked doubtfully. “Although, I suppose she could be pretty.”

Kurt stepped forward, fascinated by the sleek lines of the car in spite of himself. “A ’78 Camaro with a four-barrel Quadrajet made it really perform. A hundred and eighty horses for a lot of get up and go, but the three on the floor were usually stiff as anything. Combined with a rugged clutch . . . not a ride for a delicate touch.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but I guess you’re talking about my car,” Puck responded.

“Where did you get it?”

“Some old hippy dude. Think he wanted to score a few bags. Got it for two bills.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, running his sensitive fingers over the chassis. The paint job was old and dull, rough with age. He smoothed his hands over the metallic curves, loving the sensual feel of the metal heating up under his touch. He kept stroking, looking for any place that didn’t respond to him with the same conductivity as metal.

“Amazingly enough, I can’t feel any trace of putty. That’s so rare for cars this old.” Kurt bent over to get a look at the underside. “I’d have to get up her up on the lift to check the undercarriage. That’s the biggest danger to old cars in the Midwest – corrosion from salt.”

He stood up and turned to Puck who was gaping at him.

“A very pretty challenge,” Kurt said. “I’m willing to help with the motor repair.”

“That was fucking hot,” Puck breathed.

“What are you talking about?”

“You . . . fondling my car. Like you wanted to fuck it.”

“I was feeling for body putty . . . damage,” Kurt huffed. “And since when are you gay?”

“Puckzilla can’t be constrained by normal social definitions.”

“Well, _Puckzilla_ . . . people don’t just turn homosexual. They’re born that way and you’ve never shown any inclination to anything other than raging heterosexuality.”

“Maybe I’m bi.”

“Maybe? Maybe! It’s not like it’s a choice!”

Puck shrugged. “Maybe I decided it’s time to slide down the scale a little at the sight of you in those tight pants and shiny boots.”

“Uh, okay, whatever. You can help me with the work and I’ll get you the parts at cost.”

“That’s really nice, Kurt, but I didn’t really plan to do anything with the car. It runs; that’s all I need.”

“What? But she’s a classic beauty. She just needs a little TLC to reveal her looks. And smooth . . . we can make her the sweetest girl ever.”

“I bought it to impress Lauren, the bitch,” Puck grumbled. “She called it a pile of crap.”

“Crap! Certainly not! A diamond in the rough.”

“Well, after she dissed my car and refused to take me back, I decided I needed to get the old Puckerman mojo back.”

“So you turned bi?” Kurt asked in confusion, feeling like he was missing quite a lot of the point of the conversation.

“Nah, that’s just a bonus,” Puck said.

He dug in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small metal ring with a bead on it. “You’re the only person I know who has a needle _and_ needle-nosed pliers.”

“What’s that?”

“My nipple ring. I want you to re-pierce me.”

“Are you insane? I don’t know anything about piercing!”

“You can sew, can’t you? It’s not that different.”

Kurt could think of multiple ways it was different, starting with blood and pain, which in his experience were hardly ever involved in sewing. He shook his head.

“Why don’t you just go back to the original piercer? If you need money, I can lend it to you,” Kurt offered.

“No! It’s not that. Piercing . . . a simple piercing like this isn’t that much anyway.”

“Then why me?”

Puck looked uncomfortable. “Uh, well, there’s only one legit tattoo artist and piercer in Lima. I’m sort of on his shit list. He’d probably try to give me Hep C.”

“Why would he do something that’s likely to get him closed down by the health department?”

“I may have fucked his wife.”

“Oh, Puck, honestly,” Kurt said, rubbing the place between his eyebrows. He could feel a migraine simply _brewing_ there. All due to this confusing conversation with Puck.

“How was I supposed to know? She never mentioned it.”

“Just because a woman isn’t nailed to the floor doesn’t make her free for the taking.”

“Whatever. Look . . . I know how to do this, but I can’t do it to myself. Can’t get the angle right. I can talk you through it. Are you going to help me or not?”

“Fine,” Kurt said, reaching out and grabbing the small ring from Puck’s hand.

He stomped into the garage with Puck trailing along behind him. Kurt scanned the neatly organized collection of pliers hanging on the pegboard. He finally settled on the slimmest pair of needle-nosed in the collection. He tested them on the ring and found that the ends of the pliers would just barely slip through the circumference of the steel circle. Kurt opened the pliers and saw that the little ball was held in place by the tension on the steel circle. He would have to get the circle through Puck’s flesh without distorting it; otherwise it wouldn’t keep the ball in place.

“Come on,” he said to Puck, walking into the house through the garage door. “Have a seat and get your shirt off. I’m going to go find a needle.”

In his dressing room, Kurt opened his sewing box and looked at his needle collection, comparing his supplies to the gauge of the steel ring. The ring was much thicker than all of Kurt’s needles, but he finally settled on a darning needle, deciding that it was big enough to work. He muttered curses under his breath about being coerced to mutilate Puck.

After a moment of contemplation, he rooted through his collection of tweezers, pulling out a pair of cross-locking tweezers. He figured that they would pinch the nipple and Puck could pull it out by holding the handles without much effort.

When Kurt re-entered the kitchen, he pulled up short at the sight that greeted him – Puck had indeed taken off his shirt. He had his back to Kurt, and he was sorting through one of the kitchen drawers. His back and shoulders rippled as he moved. His worn jeans rode well below his waist and molded to the curves of his ass. Puck looked one of Kurt’s magazines come to life.

Apparently not finding what he need, Puck slammed the drawer shut and pulled open the next one, making a frustrated noise under his breath.

“What are you looking for?” Kurt asked, deciding to make his presence known before Puck caught him staring.

Glancing up without embarrassment at being caught rifling through the drawers, Puck said, “A Sharpie.”

“Right here,” Kurt said, walking over the to the desk at the end of the counter and opening the cabinet. “What for?”

“You have to mark the entry and exit to make sure they line up and you have a target for the needle.”

Kurt gulped. “I see,” he said nervously.

Puck threw himself into one of the kitchen chairs, sprawling back on it and letting his arms dangle down by his sides. Kurt stepped over to the sink and filled a pot from the hot water dispenser. He put it on the stove and turned the heat up as far as it would go. He had no idea how long he’d need to boil the implements to get them sterile, but he guessed that at least ten minutes would do it.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make sure that you don’t pick up anything from this extraordinarily bad idea that you’ve somehow talked me into.”

Puck snorted.

Another stalling tactic occurred to him and turning around, Kurt said, “Maybe we should go research this. How to do it properly.”

Puck looked at him knowingly and Kurt imagined that the stupid Mohawked boy knew exactly what Kurt was thinking.

“Nah,” Puck said. “You have good instincts. I trust you.”

Kurt couldn’t help the flush that stole over his skin at than and turned back around, watching the pot, which had begun boiling violently. As he stared blindly at the seething bubbles, he wondered why everything Puck said seemed to have layers upon layers of meaning.

“Leave that. It can go without you supervising it,” Puck ordered.

Kurt turned around again, just as Puck picked up the Sharpie.

“Here,” Puck said, an odd look in his eyes. “Mark me.”

At that point, Kurt was certain that Puck was messing with him, maybe not because he was gay, but because he thought that Kurt was entirely innocent. Kurt may have been relatively untouched, but he wasn’t naïve and plus . . . the internet. He knew damned well that ‘marking’ someone had more connotations than just drawing on their skin. Especially given the tone the Puck used.

Something in him snapped and recklessly, Kurt decided that he could match Puck innuendo for innuendo.

“My pleasure,” he said, pushing his voice into the lower register. He took the marker out of Puck’s fingers and made sure to graze their hands together in the process. Puck’s eyes widened and Kurt felt a small, smug sense of satisfaction as he uncapped the Sharpie.

But then he floundered again when he confronted the reality of Puck’s bare chest. Kurt couldn’t decide whether to lean over the side or try to mark Puck’s nipple from the front. Or maybe if he leaned over Puck’s shoulders from behind he would get the best view. He gulped when he finally got it through his head that Puck had explicitly demanded that Kurt actually touch all those magnificent muscles. Kurt didn’t like to think he was shallow, but beauty was beauty and he was as interested in it as the next gay boy.

While Kurt floundered indecisively, Puck apparently ran out of patience with the situation. He gripped Kurt’s waist and one thigh and dumped Kurt into his lap so he was straddling his thighs. Kurt squeaked in surprise and grabbed Puck’s shoulders for leverage. Puck’s hands settled on Kurt’s ass and he gave a squeeze.

“What are you doing?” Kurt demanded.

Puck gave him a filthy smirk. “Figured you could see more easily from this angle.”

Kurt struggled, trying to get off Puck’s lap, but the other boy had a good hold on his ass and Kurt feared the bruises if he continued.

He quit squirming, uncomfortably aware that his body had responded in the expected way to someone grabbing him. Kurt tensed, trying to make sure Puck didn’t get a clue to his reaction. “Why are grabbing my butt?” he demanded, resorting to being a bitch in order to hide what he was feeling.

With a squeeze of his fingers, Puck said, “You’ve got a gorgeous set of cheeks here. Just perfectly fills my hands.”

As a blush flooded his face, Kurt knew that he’d lost the advantage he’d gained by flirting and he was already in over his head. Recently bi or not, Puck had far more experience than he did and Kurt couldn’t compete on that field with him. Well, as he was sprawled on the lap of a beautiful man who’d practically demanded that he touch his nipples, he might as well enjoy the experience.

“Oh, well, as long as my ass _fits your hands_ I suppose we’re good,” he said, forcing a smile around his embarrassment.

Puck gave his ass another squeeze and waggled his eyebrows. “Very good, babe.”

Kurt ignored the endearment and yelped dramatically, “Don’t bruise the melons!”

Tipping his head down to rest on Kurt’s shoulder, Puck convulsed with laughter. Kurt gazed at the Mohawked head with a fond little smile on his face. He stopped flailing his hands and started rubbing Puck’s neck thoughtfully. Puck radiated heat from his bare skin, a heat that warmed Kurt completely.

With effort, Kurt managed to inject a light tone into his voice as he said, “All right, lets see this nipple I’m about to brutalize.”

Puck picked his head up and leaned back in the chair again, the motion sending sparks of pleasure shooting across Kurt’s torso as Puck’s muscular thighs shifted underneath him.

Kurt concentrated on the job at hand, focusing on Puck’s nipples, which were as hot as the rest of him. One of them was a perfect brown oval, slightly peaked with either a chill or the interest that he claimed to feel for Kurt. The other . . . Kurt gasped at the sight of the mangled flesh. He told himself that he wasn’t going to touch other than what was necessary for the piercing procedure, but he couldn’t help himself.

As gently as possible, Kurt brushed his thumb over the scarred nipple. The flesh stiffened under his touch. Using both his thumb and his index finger, Kurt stroked Puck’s nipple, drawing it into a peak. Kurt couldn’t stand the thought of doing any further damage to the little bit of tissue. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Puck’s poor nipple. Puck made a strangled sound and pulled Kurt forward so that Kurt was riding his groin and couldn’t help but notice that Puck was as hard as he was.

“What are you doing?” Puck breathed.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could kiss it better,” Kurt said against Puck’s skin. He was half afraid that Puck would finally freak out by their positions and the flirting and dump him on the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to stop touching Puck though.

“I wish you could too,” Puck said, and his voice was so rough and ragged that Kurt picked his head up to look at him.

“What happened?”

“Thought I told you . . . they ripped it out in juvie.”

Kurt gasped, imagining all too well the pain and fear Puck must have been feeling over the event. His fingers didn’t stop moving carefully over the little nub.

Puck clutched Kurt’s hips as though he were grasping a lifeline. “I gotta say something.”

“Okay, I’m listening,” Kurt responded, wondering what else Puck needed from him. Reluctantly, he took his hand away from Puck’s chest and rested his fingers on his own thighs. Puck had gotten serious and Kurt wasn’t sure how to deal with him.

“Look . . . I’m sorry I wasn’t there when the shit was getting bad.”

Kurt didn’t know how to respond to that, especially given Puck’s history. He sat quietly, well aware that he was still straddled across Puck’s lap, but for some reason he was reluctant to get up. Their proximity created a bond of intimacy that he’d never experienced around Puck before.

“You were an enthusiastic participant, once,” he said finally. “The dumpster tosses, the taunts, the torture.”

“Yeah. I was stupid. You’re worth more than that.”

“Thank you.”

“When I came back from juvie and found you gone, and nobody knew why for sure, just that Karofsky had done something to you . . . I felt sick.”

Surprised by the depth of feeling from Puck, Kurt could think of nothing to say. “Oh.”

“I hope you forgive me for before,” Puck said.

Once again, Kurt didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t understand the concept of forgiveness as practiced by his church-going friends – the simple recitation of a ritual plea, which seemed both childishly superstitious and insultingly facile. Kurt was sick of being asked to forgive people for heinous things. While Dave was making progress on his journey to self-acceptance and becoming a tolerable human, Kurt wouldn’t ever forget what led up to it. He also wasn’t sure what Puck meant by it either, because he knew even less about Puck’s religious beliefs than he did his other friends.

Surely it was telling that he counted Puck among his friends? Everyone made mistakes and had to grow up. Puck thought Kurt was worth something now and all it took was Puck really getting to know him.

The kitchen had lost its teasing atmosphere, even though, strangely enough, Puck still had a double handful of Kurt’s ass, and Kurt was still hard. He wiggled a little and found that Puck was in the same state.

Wanting to do something about the mood and the warm feeling that Puck’s confession of Kurt’s worth had kindled inside him, Kurt leaned his head down and covered Puck’s mouth with his. He meant it as a ‘thank you’ . . . ‘I forgive you’ . . . ‘you mean something to me too.’ Puck gasped a little, maybe in surprise, but he got with the program pretty quickly, dragging Kurt forward until their groins were in closer proximity.

The simple kiss quickly turned into something unexpectedly heated. Puck opened his mouth and stabbed his tongue into Kurt’s and he pulled Kurt even closer so that Kurt was riding the hardness in Puck’s pants. The kiss quickly exceeded Kurt’s experience with making out and he gave up trying to control it almost immediately.

When Puck surged up off the kitchen chair and laid Kurt down on the table, Kurt finally pulled himself out of the sensual daze created by Puck’s talented mouth and Puck’s bare skin under his hands.

“What . . . wait . . . what are you doing?” he gasped as Puck pushed his thighs apart.

“Getting you off,” Puck said, nipping at Kurt’s neck and thrusting at the apex of Kurt’s thighs.

Desire surged through Kurt and he moaned, feeling helpless. He reached for Puck’s ass and banged his elbow on the hard wood of the table.

“No, stop, wait.”

Puck pulled back, looking wary, although his hand didn’t leave Kurt’s thighs. He swallowed heavily. “Are you saying no?”

“No,” Kurt gasped, because the last thing he wanted was to discourage Puck from continuing with the lovely pressure on his crotch. Then he remembered his objections again. “Yes. Just . . . not on the table, okay? My room. Upstairs.”

“Hell to the yeah,” Puck said, standing up and offering Kurt a hand to help him scramble off the table.

On their way, Kurt darted over to the stove long enough to turn off the burner. He grabbed Puck’s hand, pulling the bigger boy with him up the stairs. As soon as the door was closed and locked, Kurt quickly wriggled out of his clothes, knowing they’d be difficult for Puck to manage without tearing them. He wasn’t exactly sure what they were doing, but he planned on being naked for it. And on taking advantage of Puck’s willingness to walk on the wild side. Puck stared at him for a second or two and then quickly shucked himself out of his jeans.

Kurt took a deep breath, not exactly sure what the protocol was for such encounters, but then Puck surged against him and Kurt fell backwards onto the bed with Puck on top of him. Kurt cried out in shock at the feel of a big naked male on top of him. Pleasure flooded his synapses everywhere Puck touched him. Their legs tangled together as they fought to get their groins as close as possible.

“Oh,” Kurt breathed, wrapping his hands around Puck’s shoulders and clinging.

Puck buried his face in Kurt’s neck as his hands grabbed Kurt’s ass and pulled him up to meet the motion of his plunging hips. Kurt caught on to the rhythm almost immediately, a small part of him relieved that Puck didn’t seem inclined to try anything more complicated than rubbing their bodies together. Swiveling his hips was something at which Kurt excelled and he pushed eagerly back against Puck.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so hot, Kurt,” Puck groaned against Kurt’s skin, lighting little fires along Kurt’s nerves with kisses and nips.

“You too,” Kurt panted, not really knowing what else to say, other than the painfully obvious.

Puck slid his hand down Kurt’s thigh and shifted them slightly so their dicks rubbed together more intensely than before. Kurt let out a high-pitched cry and arched his back, frantically trying to get even closer as his body convulsed and his penis jumped and spurted.

“God damn,” Puck chanted. “God damn, so hot, fuck.”

Kurt held on tight, riding out his own climax even as Puck jerked and shook in his arms, and the slipperiness between them increased. Puck eventually stilled, leaning his weight on his arms, but Kurt tugged on him until he relaxed and slumped over Kurt, who discovered that he quite enjoyed the feeling of being draped with an admittedly heavy but attractive man. He smiled a little against the rough stubble of Puck’s head.

“So . . . you my boy now?” Puck asked with his mouth against Kurt’s shoulder.

Kurt’s heart stuttered as he contemplated the implications of Puck’s question. “Your . . . you want that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Mmm. Good.”

Puck slid over, but didn’t go far. Kurt hoped he’d remembered to lock his bedroom door and then wondered what time it was and if they’d have the house to themselves much longer before the rest of his family got home. He decided he’d be perfectly happy if he and Puck never left the bed again, although he supposed that the situation would be hard to explain to his father and Finn. He thought about getting up, but Puck was a warm and solid weight against him, and Kurt couldn’t be bothered to move.

Puck rubbed small circles on the skin of Kurt’s hip, lazy and slow. “We still haven’t pierced my nipple.”

Kurt laughed. “I tell you what . . . on Saturday, I’ll drive you to Columbus, and we’ll find a decent piercer.”

“Deal,” Puck said, leaning over to take another kiss.


End file.
